A rare poem

A Conversation among Christian Bachelors

I need a miracle.
I obviously can’t help myself.
Isn’t that what everyone says when they’ve hit the pit?
They pray for conviction, they pray for direction,
too lethargic to move.
Isn’t that what the soon to be convert says, already getting
ready to give himself up?
I need a miracle?
The rain falls on a dusty field.
I need a miracle?
The invading navy is swept away.
I need a miracle?
The agent who knows that writing can be an art.
Because I’m living in a rooming-house, already,
suffered enough
to get here,
I need a miracle.


Posted on October 4, 2011, in Tree. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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